One of the traditions of the Naval Academy is the Herndon Monument Climb. It takes place at the end of the plebe year and serves as a rite of passage for the plebes. When the climb is successfully completed, the freshmen are no longer called plebes but “fourth class midshipmen.” I’ll let Samantha tell you about it.
We had made it. Ashley, Danielle, and I had completed the plebe year. We had overcome all the obstacles thrown at us during Plebe Summer and the academic year. We stood with the rest of the plebes waiting for the final event, the Herndon Monument Climb. We were all dressed in T‑shirts and shorts. We had taken off our athletic shoes, and we were ready.
The Herndon Monument was a 21 foot obelisk located near the chapel. The night before, upperclassmen had slathered 50 pounds of lard on the obelisk and placed a “dixie cup” hat on top. For us this was to be an exercise in teamwork. Our objective was to form a human pyramid around the monument so one of us could get high enough to collect the hat and replace it with an upperclassman’s hat, symbolizing the transition from plebe to midshipman.
At a signal we took off for the monument. By the time Ashley, Danielle, and I got there, the crowd around the monument was six or seven deep. I kept moving around, looking for an opportunity to help. Other female plebes had taken off their T‑shirts (our sports bras were more modest than bikini tops), as had most of the males, and were using them or offering them to wipe grease off the monument. I tossed mine into the mix, and one of the plebes hanging onto the second level put it to work immediately.
Finally, I got close enough to shove a couple of climbers up to the second level. About that time a nearby group collapsed, and I found myself boosting others into the gap. One of them reached back and grabbed my hand. He pulled me upward. I was so caught up in the effort that I climbed up to the second level without thinking and hooked arms with the two males on either side of me. Almost immediately someone was climbing up over me. A knee grazed my face and ended up on my shoulder. 170 pounds suddenly concentrated on that one muscle and it hurt. I gritted my teeth and held on.
I think three other guys climbed over me before the one under me collapsed, pulling me and several others down with him. Someone stepped on my hand before I could get up. Thank goodness for bare feet. I backed out of dense traffic rubbing my shoulder. I figured I’d done my bit, and contented myself with cheering the others on.
Surprisingly, time flew by. I watched and applauded as several guys tried to knock the “dixie cup” off with a midshipman’s hat. Finally, after a little more than two hours Philip Johnson put the midshipman’s hat on top to the cheers of the crowd. As the members of the pyramid worked their way down, we all chanted, “Plebes no more!” over and over.
Tradition has it that whoever accomplishes the task will become the first to make admiral. So far that hasn’t happened. I believe Philip is now a civilian, but he sure looked good holding that plaque with the admiral shoulder board on it.
As we were walking away from the monument, I heard a familiar voice. “Midshipman Pederson.”
I stopped and turn to look. It was Wilson. Now what? I thought the pressure was over. I snapped to attention. “Sir.”
With a smile he said, “At ease, Midshipman. I’m here to congratulate you on completing your plebe year. I knew when I first saw you that you had promise. That’s why I pushed you so hard.”
I was stunned. All I could say was, “Thank you, sir.”
“By the way, I never did find out who short-sheeted my rack. I’ve always suspected you did it, but I can’t ask you that because of the honor system.” He gave me a questioning look.
“You got me, sir. How did you figure it out?”
He laughed. “You were the only one with the gumption to do it.”
He shook my greasy hand. “Keep up the good work. I expect to see you make Brigade Commander if you work at it.” To my surprise he stepped back and saluted me.
He was a little optimistic, but that’s another story.